


the schoolyard of forever

by comediafinitaest



Series: borders [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bullying, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Loneliness, Physical Abuse, Social Anxiety, eleanor is an ok parent, that tag cracks me up i have no idea why, these tags r so sad :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comediafinitaest/pseuds/comediafinitaest
Summary: "“Please, John, please, just smile. For once, stop looking like you’re being tortured.”They’re at the third grade science fair. John is standing next to his tri-fold display board, the one he had spent hours drawing turtles and fishes on. The principal had gone around the auditorium to greet each and every student except for John. Henry is here but he does not want to be.“The boy is dead on his ass, Eleanor,” he snarls at his wife, grabbing her arm. He doesn’t even try to lower his voice so John can’t hear. She twists her face as if she’s sucking on a mouldy lemon. “There’s nothing between those fucking ears.” His gaze flits around for a moment, making sure no one is watching, and he lands a light smack on the back of John’s head to prove his point.His mother says nothing as always, and pulls a camera out of her purse to take pictures. His father throws his board in the garbage when they get home because it takes up too much space."or..... john's childhood and how he met lafayette :o
Relationships: Eleanor Ball Laurens & John Laurens, Eleanor Ball Laurens/Henry Laurens (1723-1792), Henry Laurens (1723-1792) & John Laurens, John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Series: borders [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888471
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was HEAVILY inspired by Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski, one of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors, and the title is from his poem with the same name :D

_I am not like them_ , John thinks. He has never been like them.

There seems to be a kind of language that every other child at school speaks, one that he can only dream of speaking. He just doesn’t _speak_ like them, doesn’t look like them, doesn’t move like them. There’s something they know that he doesn’t. He wraps his arms around his chest, twiddles his fingers as a knot tightens in his stomach, whenever they walk by. His gaze is glued to the floor. He’s spent an embarrassing amount of his life staring at his shoes. John’s mother never liked when he did that. 

_“Please, John, please, just smile. For once, stop looking like you’re being tortured.”_

_They’re at the third grade science fair. John is standing next to his tri-fold display board, the one he had spent hours drawing turtles and fishes on. The principal had gone around the auditorium to greet each and every student except for John. Henry is here but he does not want to be._

_“The boy is dead on his ass, Eleanor,” he snarls at his wife, grabbing her arm. He doesn’t even try to lower his voice so John can’t hear. She twists her face as if she’s sucking on a mouldy lemon. “There’s nothing between those fucking ears.” His gaze flits around for a moment, making sure no one is watching, and he lands a light smack on the back of John’s head to prove his point._

_His mother says nothing as always, and pulls a camera out of her purse to take pictures. His father throws his board in the garbage when they get home because it takes up too much space._

Occasionally there are people who make an effort to get to know him. But he’s got a talent for telling them to leave him alone.

_He’s always hated recess. There’s nothing for someone like him to do other than sit underneath the dead oak tree on the dead grass and sketch or do homework. He watches other children play, watches them laugh and throw foam footballs back and forth, watches them never spare him a second glance. Sometimes they come over and point and laugh at him, but he bares his teeth at them and tells them to leave and they leave._

_Today must be his goddamn lucky day. A girl with blonde hair and white white skin and blue eyes comes and stands in front of him._

_“Hi,” she says, waving her hand. “I’m Martha. What’s your name?”_

_John stares at his sketchbook, pretending that he didn’t hear._

_“What’s your name?” she asks again._

_John says nothing._

_“Do you wanna play with me?”_

_John says nothing._

_“What are you drawing?” She stands there for a few moments staring. And then she walks away._

John wants to say he’s angry at the kids, angry at his parents, but deep down he knows he can’t blame them. There’s no reason for them to like him. He gets into fights and his grades are horrible, no matter how many times his mother has cried and begged him to put in some effort and his father has hit him on the head so hard he can feel his brain collide with his skull and called him an idiot. 

But that’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll always be. He’s in sixth grade now and nothing has changed. He has two siblings now, a three year-old sister named Martha and an infant brother named Henry. His father is running for Senate and everyone hates him even more.

“Hey, who wants to go say hi to _John_?” A boy sniggers to his group of friends during lunch. They’re sitting at a table behind him. John’s sitting alone. Some fucking insult. It makes his teeth clench.

It’s the chorus of _ew_ ’s that set John off, and he won’t bother to recall what happened next. But the leader of the little group is on the floor, clutching his nose and yelling like a little baby, and John is standing above him grinning, fist throbbing and wanting _more_. The cafeteria has gone silent.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” the boy shrieks. “You fucking freak!” 

And suddenly the boy’s friends are on him and he’s the one on the floor. Some way or another he ends up in the nurse’s office after a stern lecture from the principal. It’s the first time the principal has ever spoken to him. They try to call his parents but no one picks up. The boy goes home and his friends are suspended for a week. They go home too.

“You’re going to be suspended, you know,” the nurse, Mrs. Li, murmurs softly as she applies aloe vera onto his bruised eye. She has short black hair that curls around her face and narrow, warm eyes that crinkle at the edges. “Why did you hit that boy?”

John feels tears prick at his eyes. _Sissy_. It’s been so long since someone spoke to him so gently. “They were being mean. I don’t like them.” It’s childish but it’s all he can manage.

Mrs. Li smiles at him, stepping back a little. “Between you and me, I never liked those boys either. But there’s no excuse for violence.” She walks around her desk and plops down with a heavy sigh. “Do you know where your parents are, John? The principal sent them an email and no one responded. I’ve tried to contact them myself but they won’t answer.”

Of course she had been trying to contact John’s parents so they could pick him up. So his father can hit and kick until he can hardly breathe as his mother watches with the same mouldy lemon expression. So Mrs. Li doesn’t have to deal with John anymore.

“They’re working. I usually walk home,” he tells her, dropping his forehead onto his palms. Maybe he can give Mrs. Li the nanny’s phone number. The nanny hates him too but she’ll come if she’s called.

“Well, we can’t just send you to walk home in the middle of the school day, now, can we? Guess you’re stuck with me for a bit longer.” School ends in an hour. He has an hour of quiet. Mrs. Li taps her chin thoughtfully. “What are your parents like, John?”

She could’ve asked any other fucking question. “Working,” he mumbles, drilling his palms into his forehead. He wants to rub his eyes but Mrs. Li told him not to. He doesn’t know how to describe his mother. She’s a nice lady but the best word John can think of to describe her is non-existent. She can’t stand up for herself and she can’t stand up for her kids. John has watched her get beaten by his father and she has watched John get beaten by his father but she has never done anything. He can’t help but feel bad for Martha and Henry. They were born into such a horrible family; a deadbeat older brother, a non-existent mother, and a father who prefers to get his point across using his fists rather than his words. It’s almost comical. John loves his siblings but he tries to stay away from them because he doesn’t want to ruin them. At least they have the nanny.

“What do they do?” Mrs. Li presses.

“Work.”

She doesn’t say another word to him. The dismissal bell rings an hour later. He goes to his locker to pick up his things and walks home.


	2. Chapter 2

The nanny is waiting at the door when he gets home, a sleeping Henry in her arms. Her name is Anne. John always thought she was kind of ugly and too plain, but his siblings love her.

“Young man,” she fumes, tone barely above a whisper, “Eleanor called me and told me what happened. You’re in big trouble, do you realize that?”

John says nothing.

“You made your  _ mother _ cry. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

John says nothing. 

“Okay,” she all but growls, staring him down so intensely John imagines lasers shooting out of her ugly, dead eyes. “Okay. You want to get into fights? Make everyone’s life harder? You do that, you little brat. Go to your room and don’t come out until you’re told. Henry’ll teach you a lesson, alright.” She turns on her heels and stomps to the kitchen. John’s brother is still asleep. He hears small, slow footsteps padding down the big staircase. It’s Martha, clad in Hello Kitty pajamas even though it’s three in the afternoon.

“Johnny?” she stares at him with her big doe eyes, warily moving towards him. John doesn’t know where the nickname came from but he loves when Martha uses calls him by it, even though he’d never admit the fact. “What happened to your face?”

All the anger in John’s chest seems to melt away. He does his best to give his little sister a warm smile. “Nothing, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s go back upstairs.” He holds his hand out for Martha to grab, but stupid fucking Anne and her shrill, ear-piercing voice cut in. 

“Martha! Come here, John is busy! Don’t bother him! Come!” Henry starts crying, wailing loudly. Martha frowns at him for a moment and heads towards the kitchen.

John just can’t be fucking happy, can he?

\-----

John is sitting on his bed reading a book from the school library when his father arrives. Eleanor works late hours most of the time so she won’t be home for a while. He has always loved classics, even if he doesn’t entirely understand some of them. 

His gaze is ripped from Frankenstein when the door is shoved open so forcefully it bangs against the wall. Before he can blink the book is snatched from his hands. Henry stands before him, ugly nostrils flared and face red as a tomato.

“Getting into fights now, are we, boy?” He slaps John across the face with the book. His black eye throbs and tears prick at his eyes. John can still hear his baby brother crying. “Your mother will be torn apart.” Since when has his father even cared about his wife? “Get up.” He gets up and stands in front of his father.

“Your kind are always getting into trouble, aren’t they?” Henry attempts at a laugh, though it sounds more like he’s been punched in the stomach. “Ruining the country.” John’s stomach twists as he realizes what Henry means. Sometimes he wants to grab his mother and shake her until she decides to leave her husband, until she decides to leave the racist, abusive, bigot that has terrorized her and her family for years.

But he’s like a puppet in front of his father, a submissive, stupid puppet. “Yes, sir,” he whispers hoarsely.  _ One day, _ he thinks to himself,  _ one day I’ll knock this bastard on his ass. _

His father gives him another slap for good measure before sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t want to deal with you right now, damnit.” He grabs a hold of John’s hair and tilts his face upwards. “What can I possibly have done for God to punish me with a son like you?” he whispers, sneering at the sight of John’s face.

“I don’t know, father,” he replies. His father doesn’t like it when John doesn’t respond so he forces himself to talk. Henry seems to think about something, inspecting his son’s face for a while before speaking again. 

“From now on you’ll address me as Henry, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” John doesn’t really care what he calls his father because none of the names are what he really wants to call him.  _ Bastard. Loser. Idiot. Coward.  _

“Do  _ not  _ exit this room again. I don’t want to see your face.” He turns around and walks out.

John sighs sharply and sits on his bed only to realize that Henry had taken his book. He had liked the book but it doesn’t matter. The school librarian hates him anyway. 

——-

It’s eleven o’clock at night and John hasn’t eaten dinner. No one had let him out of his room. He knows his mother is home but she hasn’t come by to see him. The only voice he’s heard was Henry’s when the man knocked so hard John thought the door would fall over two hours ago and yelled, “Lights  _ out! _ ”

He’s discovered a nice surprise under his bed: a worn out collection of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories. Maybe the people who used to live in the house left it here, because his parents certainly didn’t. After finishing The Snows of Kilimanjaro he has to take a moment to breathe, a moment to appreciate this beautiful little secret that was hiding under his bed. It’s a somewhat depressing story but John is in love with the writing style, the no-nonsense prose, sharp and to the point. 

John is forced to put down the book, however, when his eyelids start drooping. As soon as he slides the book under his bed and turns off his reading light, he hears three soft knocks behind his door. He knows immediately who it is. 

“Come in!” he says, voice as quiet as possible. His heart is  _ bursting  _ with joy. He’s just discovered Hemingway, Hemingway and his words that flow like music, like creeks surrounded by green grass and flowers, and now. . .

Martha’s tiny little hands turn the knob and push the door open slowly. “Johnny?” She peeks at him from behind the door. 

“Martha! Come in, quick!” he grins at his little sister and pats his bed. “Come sit!”

Martha’s face brightens and she runs over, gingerly shutting the door behind her before climbing onto John’s bed and plopping down. 

“Why weren’t you at dinner?” she inquires, pouting and leaning forward. “Mommy hadta cook ‘cause daddy sent Anne home. It was yucky.” Eleanor never was good at cooking. 

“Mmhm,” John hums. “I wasn’t hungry. Why’re you up?” he asks, making sure his tone is gentle so he doesn’t scare Martha. She always gets scared when someone’s angry. 

“‘M not tired!” she giggles. “Can I stay here? Are you gonna sleep now?” She darts forward and presses herself to John’s side. He has no choice but to wrap an arm around her tiny frame. 

John feels a sudden rush of sadness looking at his sister’s beaming face. He knows he’s not a good person and that he’s a horrible influence on Martha. It’d do her good to stay away from him. Henry will murder John if he finds out that his daughter sneaked into his room. But he can’t say no to her. She’s already got such bad parents, how could he be mean to her?

“Yeah,” he says, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, you can stay. How was your day? Did you do anything fun?” The questions are bland but he doesn’t really have anything else to ask. 

“Uhhh. . . me an’ Henry and Anne watched a movie. It was funny. But Henry kept crying.” She peers up at him with her eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face?” A bony little finger pokes him in the cheek. She does it again. And again. Trying her best not to smile. 

“Well, you see, I met. . . The  _ Grinch _ on my way home from school,” he whispers to her, voice lowered surreptitiously. Her expression is  _ priceless. _ She hates the Grinch. “And I asked him why his heart’s so small. And then he. . .” A moment of silence passes between them, Martha staring with wide, worried eyes, before John suddenly leaps forward and starts tickling her in the stomach. “Attacked me!”

“Jooooohn! No! Stop!” She kicks at him, laughing so hard tears gather in her eyes. “Johnny!”

John’s laughing too, laughing more than he has in a long time. Why hasn’t he spent more time with Martha? After another ten seconds of tickling mercilessly he finally decides to spare her. She pouts and shoves at his chest, trying desperately to stifle a grin. 

“I don’t like you.” 

John snorts. “Aw, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Can we be friends now?”

But she is cut off when the door swings open. Eleanor stands in the doorway, mouth hanging open.  _ Shit.  _ They had been too loud. 

“Martha Laurens! Get in your room right now! Why are you still awake?” The  _ Why are you near John _ is not said but is definitely understood. 

Martha’s big eyes widen even more, tears gathering around the edges. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The tears finally fall. She rubs at them with the sleeve of her Hello Kitty pajamas. “I’m sorry,” she says again. But she doesn’t get up, instead pressing further into John’s side. 

Eleanor gapes at her daughter for a moment before turning to John and narrowing her eyes. “What have you two been doing in here?”

Martha sniffles. “We were talking. Johnny tol’ me a story.” God, does John love his sister. If she had said,  _ Johnny was tickling me, _ John doesn’t want to think about the conclusions his mother would jump to. 

Eleanor huffs loudly. “I don’t want to see this happening again, do you both hear me?” She says  _ you both _ but her gaze is directed towards John. His mother struts forward and picks up Martha, giving John one more death glare for good measure. 

“Bye,” John says weakly, trying his best to smile for Martha. He is not going to cry. His mother doesn’t bother saying another word to him. She moves quickly out of his room, Martha in tow, and shuts the door behind her.

He is  _ not _ going to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whos back...... again..... pls do a desperate author yet another favor and point out inconsistencies, typos, all that jazz in the comments. this series is the first thing that ive written in like two years so its destined to happen

**Author's Note:**

> guess whos back guys!!!!!! so sorry to anyone who was looking for more content w the washingtons and alex, i just really wanted to write a little about john's childhood and how he met lafayette because they'll both be a big part of the series (if i ever get around to writing more lol)


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